Why Scandinavian Training is Superior
by bane the luchador
Summary: Canada accidentally discovers the secret behind the Scandinavian training routine for their curling teams. Denmark/Sweden


_A/N: _This was for a kinkmeme request that asked for DenSu curling at the Olympics (with a bonus of ice!sex). Slashy PWP, tons of curling jargon, derpy ending, and a long-ass end note.

It goes without saying that I don't own anything.

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**Why Scandinavian Training is Superior**

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Sweden breathed deeply, placing his right foot onto the hack. He looked towards the house on the other end of the curling sheet, where a Skip would normally stand and provide a spot to aim for. He knelt down, grabbing hold of the handle of his stone and slid back and forth with his left foot while keeping his right on the hack. Sliding helped him to clear his mind, sharpen his focus. He envisioned sliding out of the hack and letting go of his stone, giving it just the right amount of 'oomph' for it to glide smoothly down the ice. It would knock the two stones (Denmark's stones, as he privately thought of them) that he'd placed there out of the house, leaving him as the victor.

Somewhere along the line his eyes had fallen shut and he opened them.

With the double-takeout playing over in his mind, Sweden picked up his broom and prepared to throw his stone. Slide out, slide in, slide out again and release. He gave the rock a final push and watched it zoom towards the house. He imagined a pair of sweepers with their brooms poised in front of the stone, waiting for a command.

He got up from his crouched position to quickly trail the rock on its path. It began to deviate too far to the left halfway down the ice. It would completely miss its target, at that rate. "Curl." He muttered shortly and the rock, as if in response, curled towards the right until it was back on track. Half a second later it crashed into the two rocks (_Denmark's_, his mind echoed) sitting in the house, knocking them out. For one brief moment it seemed as if it would roll out of the house as well, but it didn't. When Sweden finally got to the other end of the ice, he could see that it was lying almost directly on the button.

_Victory_.

The sound of loud clapping caused the Swede to jump. He looked around and spotted a guy sitting in the stands. It was the person he last wanted to see at the moment.

"That was a nice shot, _Sverige._" Denmark called, getting up from his seat and making his way down to the ice.

"What're y'doin' here?" Sweden asked stiffly. He watched as the Dane leapt over the railing, landing like a cat on the ice, and stalked towards him. He was dressed in the uniform of the Danish curling teams: a white and gray shirt and black pants. It clashed with Sweden's own vibrant yellow and blue uniform.

"I was just checking out the competition, is all." Denmark grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets casually.

"Dun get cocky. Ye've only won two matches s'far."

The confident grin faltered slightly. "Yeah, well I was just warming up. . . Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm definitely going to win on Tuesday, _Sverige._" The fire returned to his blue eyes.

"We'll see." Sweden mumbled, setting up the rocks for another game. His teams had done really well so far, only losing once. If he ever wanted to beat Canada, he'd have to continue training rigorously. He turned around only to find Denmark throwing a stone down the ice.

"What." It wasn't a question. The bespectacled nation was staring pointedly at the rock that was just thrown.

"Well, I figured you could use another man." The other nation said, standing up. "Besides, I need to practice."

"Hn," Sweden grunted in consent. He prepared to throw his shot, wanting to knock Denmark's stone out. The shorter blonde began to tap his foot impatiently, causing Sweden to lose focus. He took a deep breath and repeated his earlier process of sliding in and out from the hack. Once he felt more confident, he slid out and pushed his rock away. It sailed down the ice and smashed into Denmark's, taking them both out of the house.

The game continued on in a similar fashion. Every time Denmark got a rock in the house, Sweden would knock it out. It was as if he was hell bent on making sure that Denmark didn't get a single point. The match ended 3-0, with Sweden as the victor.

"Well I'll be damned." Denmark said in disbelief. He knew the other was good, but it was still a shock. Sweden, for his part, looked mildly satisfied. He began taking the stones off the ice and storing them away. The Dane watched on, waiting for him to ask for help but he never did. When Sweden had all but two rocks stored, he came up behind him and snaked his arms around the blue-and-yellow clad waist.

"You could've asked me to help, y'know." He grinned, nipping at the other's shoulder playfully.

"Didn't need 'ny." The Swede answered stiffly, trying not to groan when a warm mouth closed on the base of his neck. He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably to dislodge the mouth. That proved to be useless because Denmark either didn't get the hint or just ignored it. Instead, he turned the nation in his arms to plant a kiss on the frowning lips. His tongue swiped at the Swede's bottom one, causing the stoic blonde to reluctantly open his mouth. Denmark took advantage of this and slid his tongue inside the warm cavern. This time Sweden couldn't hold back the groans as the elder nation began exploring every inch of his mouth.

When the Dane's knee found its way between his legs, the bespectacled blonde gave a decidedly unmanly squeak and gripped the other's broad shoulders.

"What a cute sound." Denmark purred, much to his counterpart's disdain. "I wonder if you can make it again~"

Before Sweden could retort, he found himself laying flat on his back, the older blonde above him, ice beneath him. He instantly arched away from the cold sensation: subsequently up into the smirking Dane. "What's the matter, _Sverige_? You cold or something?"

"Off." Sweden grunted, twisting away from the ice as much as he could. Denmark laughed.

"Nah, I think I like it right where I am." He said. His cool fingers traveled under Sweden's thin jersey, making the other shiver. He could feel goose bumps popping up all over pale skin so he pushed the yellow-and-blue shirt up to have a look.

"St-stop." The Swede said through chattering teeth. He cursed himself for not wearing an extra layer of clothing. He pushed against Denmark's shoulders but with his arms shaking so bad, he couldn't gather the required strength to heave the blonde off.

Denmark smirked. "I think I know how to warm you up, _Sverige._"

Sweden's blue-green eyes widen. "_Danmark_-" Was all he could say before his jersey was pulled over his head, leaving his back unprotected against the ice. He could feel his body temperature dropping by the second so he didn't have any other choice but to cling to the warmer body above him, trying to regain some heat. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he degraded himself for being so weak, but he was desperate. Despite living in the north, he _hated_ the cold.

Denmark winced when the younger nation's bare arms clung tightly around his neck, sapping some of his body heat. He decided to even the odds by removing his own curling jersey.

"There, now we're even." He said, planting hot kisses along the Swede's freezing skin. Sweden's response caught in his throat when Denmark bit down on his shoulder. He merely tightened his hold around the strong neck, feeling rather pathetic for being effected like this. Then the slightly shorter Scandinavian wedged a thigh between his legs and all thoughts of self-disgust and discomfort were gone. He moaned at the friction and when the Dane pushed at his knees, he didn't resist. Somehow the bastard always knew how to get him to come undone.

"Ca-can't d-do it 'ere." He stuttered, managing to remember where they were and, at the same time, wondering how he'd forgotten in the first place. The ice certainly _wasn't_ getting any warmer.

"Why not?" Denmark asked while he trailed opened mouth kisses down his neighboring nation's chest.

"Public. Cam'ras. Someone could c'me t' p-pra-" Sweden's breathing hitched when the Danish blonde began licking at his sensitive nipples.

"So let 'em come." Denmark shrugged then smirked. "Besides. . . it adds to the excitement."

Sweden flinched at the prospect, then shivered. "G-get of-ff. 'S cold."

"Now now, _Sverige_. I'm just trying to warm you up~" Denmark purred, ignoring the glare he was receiving. His fingers began to undo the Swede's black pants, swiftly removing them and his undershorts, leaving the poor nation completely exposed. Said nation bit down a yelp when his backside touched the ice.

Denmark then slid off his own clothing, kicking them away hastily. He took a moment to examine the blonde spread out before him who was shivering from the cold and something else. The younger male's skin had turned a pale white. The only colouring left in his face was the slight blue tint of his lips and the red in his cheeks.

"Hn." Denmark hummed in appreciation. He kneeled over Sweden and pressed a kiss to his mouth, sliding his tongue in for a quick swipe. He quickly replaced his tongue with two fingers, which Sweden dutifully sucked on, all the while staring at him questioningly.

"Don't have any lube with me. . ." The Dane offered, shrugging. When he was satisfied, he pulled his fingers from the hot mouth and nudged the Swedish blonde's knees apart. Without waiting for permission, he pushed the wet digits into the other's entrance and began preparing him. The Swede bit his lip to keep quiet as he was stretched.

When Denmark decided that that was enough preparation, he removed his fingers, which caused the other to whine lowly. He glanced at the other as he positioned himself. When Sweden nodded, his face red and hair tousled, Denmark pushed in.

Sweden tried to twist away from the intrusion instantly, clenching his eyes shut against the pain. His arms tightened around the Dane's neck, nearly choking him until they were pulled away. Strong hands clasped his and pressed them onto the ice above his head. He hissed, unable to find anything to take his mind off the pain anymore. The, suddenly, there was a tongue in his mouth, which proved to be a useful distraction until he finally adjusted to the somewhat shorter blonde being inside him.

After taking a few laboured breaths, he finally hissed "Move." and the Dane happily complied. The first few thrusts were sloppy and admittedly uncomfortable. But then Denmark found a rhythm and the experience was suddenly a lot more enjoyable. Especially when he found that _spot_: the one that made Sweden utter a loud, breathy moan. The elder Scandinavian released one of his hands to nudge his knee up with an elbow. As if on its own accord, his leg automatically responded by winding around narrow hips. The other one was quick to follow until both of his legs were wrapped tight around the Danish man's waist.

"A-ah," Denmark breathed, arching at the feeling of heels pressing into his back. He used them to guide his thrusts, succeeding in hitting _that spot_ in Sweden almost every single time. He kept up that pace for a few minutes before he suddenly found himself laying flat on the ice, Sweden perched above him.

"What th-the hell!" Denmark demanded, arching away from the freezing surface.

"S'your turn." Sweden answered simply. "M'back got t' c'ld." Upon reaching up to run a hand down his back, Denmark concluded this to be true. He shrugged one shoulder and sighed. "Fine, fine." His hands found their way to the Sweden's bony hips and squeezed hard, because damn it if he was going to let him get away with that so easily. The Swedish man groaned in response then raised himself up and came down again, pushing the Dane in deeper each time. This continued until they were both getting close. Denmark took an opportunity to flip them over so Sweden was on his back again. He thrust into the willing body a several more times before he succumbed to pleasure.

"_Danmark_, I-" The bespectacled blonde gasped, tightening his legs around Denmark's waist. Denmark buried himself deep into the Swede's body and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth, and then they came together.

"Haah. . . See, that wasn't s-so bad right?" He panted, dropping down fully on the blonde beneath him out of exhaustion. Sweden grunted, face flushed and glasses askew. His legs eventually loosened their death-grip, allowing the Dane to pull out. Denmark merely rolled off onto his side, not caring about the ice at the moment. He pulled the panting blonde to his chest and planted a kiss to his sweaty hair.

Meanwhile, Canada turned around and high-tailed it back to the changing rooms as quietly as he could. So _this_ was how the Scandinavians trained.

No wonder they were so good.

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**Notes:**

_Sverige_ is Sweden and _Danmark _is Denmark in Scandinavian, if that wasn't already obvious.

The "hack" refers to the little ramp-like thing that the curler slides out from.

Sweepers, as the name suggests, sweep the ice in front of the stone to make it go farther. It's a common misconception that sweeping allows the stone to go faster, but it only makes it go farther.

A Skip is the person who calls the shots, sort of like a team captain.

A "double-takeout" is where a stone knocks two or more stones that were already in the house (the thing that looks like a bull's eye) out.

Getting a stone to "curl" means that it spins as it goes down the ice.

When I used to curl, I would always do the sliding trick to help clear my mind. It really does work.


End file.
